


Broken

by twoneone



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alcohol abuse mention, F/F, Slight Character Death, alcohol mention, mild sadstuck, this will be a romance at one point please bare with me
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-04-13
Updated: 2014-04-17
Packaged: 2018-01-19 04:48:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,543
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1455958
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twoneone/pseuds/twoneone
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rose had known the situation was bad, but she hadn't thought it would be like this.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. To Begin

**Author's Note:**

> This is just a thing I did to sort out my emotions. I honestly don't know where I was going with this.

Your name is Rose Lalonde and you are nine years old. Today, the fourth of December, is your birthday. You are not terribly excited, despite the festive date.  
You feel this way for a multitude of reasons, the first being that you must go visit your mother today.  
You don’t hate her; you hate what she had done.  
Last year, at approximately 6:57p.m Eastern Time, you had found your mother lying on the floor with alcohol bottles, at least ten visible, scattered around her. She had been passed out in a puddle of her own vomit, and was not breathing. You had panicked and brought your eight-year old self to dial 911, to which you shakily reported the scene. You were sobbing by the time that they arrived, and were heaving and screaming by the time you had overheard them declaring her unresponsive.  
It was truly the worst day of your life.  
You don’t enjoy visiting her, and you know that it’s wrong of you to not want to place flowers on your mother’s grave, but still, you don’t care. She left you with no one but strangers and you could never forgive her.  
You suppose you owe something to her- she did bring you a few of your best friends-indirectly, of course. By leaving you in the hands of none other than, who you later find out to be the Puppet-Porn King, Dirk Strider, she brought you a sense of reality, and a true understanding of survival.  
You wondered why she chose him, and based on his reaction upon learning that you were now his responsibility, he wondered the same. He was in shock when he learned the news, but he still did not hesitate to take you in. You suppose it adds to some of the reasons you respect him.  
The night that the incident had happened and they lightly explained to you that your mother’s pulse had stopped and her heart had ceased beating, you had broken down in tears. They brought you to a woman who had told you nice things and offered you a drink of water and a blanket. You did not let go of her at all, and you still internally thank her to this day for allowing you to wail into her shoulder.  
You remained at the hospital for a few hours, and at around twelve o clock, a blonde man with pointy sunglasses (which you later adapt to calling shades) and a muscular build steps in and speaks to the woman that you currently clung to. She tells you to sit tight in the chair while she discussed matters with the strange man, and you nod and sit still in the wooden seat. You fidget as you see the two silhouettes in the glass door, seeing them shake hands and nod. You hear the man grunt a few times and on occasion raise his voice. You get a bit angered at this because the kind woman does not deserve to be yelled at. She calmly chides him and speaks with an even tone from what you can hear from behind the thick glass. When they finish speaking, the man sighs and shakes his head once more before the woman opens the door, pulling on a smile.  
“Rose,” she says to you. You told her your name earlier, even though you know that they already knew it. “This is Mr. Dirk Strider. He’s going to be taking care of you for… a long while.” She smiles and the man steps forward, squatting down to your height to shake your hand.  
“H-hello,” you stutter out, and you internally groan at the mistake. You hoped you didn’t look as weak as you sounded.  
“H’llo, Rose,” He says, and he smiles at you. “You can call me Bro.”  
You frown but nod, pondering the man’s choice in nicknames but deciding against commenting on it.  
The woman gently smiles again and touches your shoulder, to which you jump slightly.  
“You’re going to reside with Mr. Strider for some time,” She says, and you nod again. “I cannot say whether this is a permanent circumstance or not, Rose, but I can assure you that Mr. Strider here will bring you no harm. Okay?” She smiles and pats your hair, and you nod again.  
You attempt to say something but your voice comes out as a rasp rather than your childish drawl. You try again. “W-wait,” you say. “Miss, I n-never…” you clear your throat and continue. “I never got your name.”  
She smiles. “My name is Doctor Maryam, but you can call me Rosa.” She says, and you nod, a semi-smile gracing your lips.  
She holds out her hand and you take it, and she leads you and Mr. Strider out of the room to the waiting room, where few people are scattered. She smiles and shakes Mr. Strider’s hand once again, and gives you a tight hug. You reciprocate the action with great enthusiasm. She tells you that you can contact her anytime you need, and that Mr. Strider (she refers to him as Bro) has her contact programmed.  
You leave the hospital and immediately are washed over with a feeling of dread. Mr. Strider leads you out to his beat up, what you assumed had been orange at a time, pickup truck. He adjusts the seat so you are comfortable and gets into his own, sitting there awkwardly and sighing.  
“So, kid,” he states, and you jump to correct him.  
“Rose.” You tell him, and he nods.  
“Sorry, force o’ habit,” He informs you, to which you nod and look down at your legs. “Anyways, Rose. I don’t got any clothes for ya at my apartment.” He tells you, and you nod.  
“That was to be expected.” You say, and he looks at you.  
“How old are ya, again? Fact slipped my mind,” He says.  
“Eight.” You inform him for a change, and he nods.  
“You seem pretty smart for an eight year old,” He whistles.  
You shake your head. “I don’t think so.” You say, and you shuffle a bit as you become less tense.  
“Anyways. Ya don’t have a problem with boys, do ya? Got one back at the apartment, names Dave. Bit of a pain in the as-butt, but ya learn to tolerate him after awhile.”  
You shake your head. As long as this boy does not try to harm you, you have no problem with him.  
Mr. Strider says a few more things and turns on the music by your request. You tune it out and think of the events that have transpired recently, and soon regret it. You turn your thoughts to the man sitting beside you. He is idling humming along to the tune on the radio, bobbing his head and drumming on the steering wheel. You speculate that he is around the age that your mother was. He has a sort of Southern accent, and the way he pronounces his words is amusing, to an extent. You have yet to question his choice in eyewear, but you will leave that for a later time.  
You hear yourself ask him, “How long will it take us to get there?”  
To which he grunts out, “’Bout 45 minutes.”  
You manage to nod before shutting your eyes, drowning out the various noises of the car. You are tired, and some rest is called for.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Rose meets the Striders.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i cant write dave i cant write dave  
> and my bro is rusty  
> its 2 am please forgive me  
> jesus fuck rose is eight and shes already smart goddamnit sis pull it together man

When you woke up, you were in a bed. The dim morning light was shining through the windows. You squinted and rubbed your eyes, a large yawn tearing through you. You finally gain sight and everything becomes less blurry, and you begin to panic.  
This was not your room. This was not your bed, your curtains, your alarm clock, your violin or your notebooks. This was not your room, and you were panicking. 

You stand up and you are in your day clothes. This is strange because Mother never lets you sleep in your clothes, it causes poor hygiene. You rush to the door and you open it quickly, surveying the area.  
The small hallway seems to lead down into a kitchen. You hesitantly step out, trying to remain silent. The floor creaks and you wince, stepping lighter and around that board. You make your way there and peak around the corner, looking at the two occupants of the room.  
You remain silent and listen to their conversation.  
“When d’ya think she’s gonna wake up, Bro?” A small blonde boy wearing the same eye wear that the man did asked. He was chugging down what looked like a bottle of apple juice. That, or urine, you noted, and internally snickered.  
“Dunno. Could be soon, could be never.” He grunts and shovels a bite of what looked like eggs into his mouth. “’S almost two o clock, though. Kinda worried.”

“She’s gonna get her nasty girl germs in my bed, Bro,” the boy grunts, and you wrinkle your nose. He sounded unpleasant. “’Sides, Bro, you said I can’t have a girl in my bed ‘till I’m old enough to drive a car.” 

You nearly snort at this. This boy was your age, if not younger than you, and his brother had already exposed him to such talk? Your young mind could not fathom such. Your mind wanders back to the more important matter at hand.

You wonder if you should present yourself now but you decide against it. You remembered the events that had recently passed and quite frankly, you did not want to talk to anyone, much less meet a new person. You wanted to fall asleep for an eternity with no interruptions. From what you remembered, you’d slept a considerable amount. Mr. Strider said that it was nearing 2 o clock, and you fell asleep on the car ride to here, wherever that was. 

You begin your quest back to the boy’s room, and just as you reach midway, the floorboard creaks and you hear feet hurry over towards you. You freeze and the pang of anxiety as the footsteps stop, and you hear the boy’s voice again. “Bro, she’s up,” he states.  
You hear the man’s faint reply from the other room. “She is? Tell her to come ‘ere, I made eggs.”  
“Bro says c’mere, he made eggs.”  
“I can hear, thank you,” You reply, and you feel a bit guilty for snapping, but after brief pondering on the subject, you decide that he deserved it. You could damn well hear him, excuse the language.

You walk down the hallway at a normal pace this time, and enter the kitchen. There, Mr. Strider stands with his same outfit of white polo t-shirt and black jeans, but this time, he wears a frilly pink apron. Your eyes widen in surprise at the sight, and you almost laugh out loud.  
“Glad you could join us, Rose,” he grunts, turning back to scrubbing the dish.  
“Why are you wearing an apron?” You ask.  
“Irony.” He states like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.  
Little did you know that this would be the first of many times that either of the Striders justified their actions with the simple word.  
“What’s the irony in that? You’re just wearing a pink apron,” You tell him. “Boys can like pink, there isn’t an ironic thing about it.”  
He grunts. “First rule of this household, Rose, is to never question it.”  
“But-“  
“Don’t ask, because the answer’ll be the same. Irony.”  
You sigh.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i hope you enjoyed the abrupt ending  
> now if you'll excuse me i haven't slept in 38 hours  
> also happy late 4/13 everyone


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING: Vivid description, a bit of gore, some violence and mentions of substance abuse/death.  
> Apologies for any triggers. This is your formal warning. Thank you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lil bit of a trigger warning in the beginning, some violence and mentions of substance abuse/death. Apologies for any triggers.   
> i cant write shit and my anxiety levels were high when writing this   
> i was also skyping my butt friend. that asslamp

It had been three weeks since the incident, and you found that the nightmares don’t stop. Often it was simply the image of your mother, lying there with bottles scattered and vomit in her hair and scars on her arm and blood from where she landed on the jagged edges of the broken bottles and the noises, the noise of a heart-rate slowing down, slowing, stopping, stop, make it stop-  
You wake up screaming. You are panting and screaming and you cannot stop, and soon a pair of comforting arms wrap around you. You hear his voice, but it simply echoes as your mind swims with the thoughts, the vivid nightmares. 

“Rose, Rose, it’s alright,” He holds you tight and rocks you back and forth, and you quiet your screaming. “Shhh… Everything is alright, Rose. It’s all okay. I’m here.” He soothes, and you shake. 

He rocks you back and forth and you shake in his arms, your shoulders heaving as you sob into his chest. Having his arms around you help, and you feel safe. You close your eyes and shake less violently, and he continues to rock you. He whispers calming words in your ear and you feel safe.

When you are finally calm he tucks you in and tells you goodnight, and that you do not have to get out of bed in the morning. He stands in the doorway and nods when you thank him weakly, and when he closes the door you lay in your bed, staring at the ceiling. You think.  
Your mother would never do that for you.   
.-.-.-.  
A few days after that, Bro tells you that you need to go back to school. You are reluctant at first. You enjoyed your class, but you honestly thought that the teachers thought you were stupid. You were the smartest in the class, and you knew it for a fact. You’d seen the class list and you had the highest grade out of all of the kids in your Third Grade class. You played dumb, and you hadn't a reason why. You suppose that you didn't want to stand out. 

You didn't want to go back to that class, and when you voiced this opinion to Bro, he informed you that you were going to transfer to Dave’s school anyway.   
Dave is Bro’s younger sibling. He is virtually a smaller version of the man, and if there was one thing for sure, it was that Dave did not like having a girl living in his house in the slightest. You took this to your own advantage, though, because Bro loved to spite him and he always took your side. You were getting used to their twisted sense of humor, and you often used their “irony” gag against them. 

Now that you inhabited Dave’s room, you decided that you wanted to paint the walls purple. This was slightly so you could feel more at home (after all, this WAS your new home, so why not feel more welcome?) but it was mostly to spite Dave. When you told Bro of the proposition, he simply grunted and asked you what shade. 

Dave was not pleased, and when he asked you “why purple, purple is the worst color in the world, purple is like vomit” you informed him that it was your favorite color. When he told you that you were stupid for this, you and Bro joined together to inform Dave that red was the most basic color. You laughed when Bro declared that “orange was clearly the best and the rest of y’all can go the fu-heck home”, and you argued on why purple was clearly the best. 

You didn't think of it as the Strider household much anymore, you thought of it as home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i hope this was to your liking   
> thank you for reading and the next chapter will be whenever. i don't know i honestly just do this for no real reason, i dont have anything planned im sorry

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed! <3


End file.
